


you made me love you

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Eventual Triad, Fluff, Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, childhood best friends, cross country road trip, it's the gay triad mutual pining cross country roadtrip novella you've all been waiting for, somewhat graphic depiction of a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Three childhood best friends, separated for nine years. One cross country road trip. What gayness will occur?
Relationships: Lukas Tyler Morgan/Aaron Mathew Mulder/Philip Isaiah Stuart-Sullivan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	you made me love you

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally the only original work i've managed to complete and i'm so happy with how it turned out!! i love the characters so much and i hope everyone else likes them as well

There’s a loud bang, and Luke shoots out of bed, stumbles over a pair of pants he left on the floor the night before, trips, and goes careening head-first into the wall. For a moment as he falls, he feels laughter bubble up in his chest—what kind of Loony Toons crap, right?

Then the wall meets his face, and, abruptly, the breath is yanked from his chest, and suddenly, he’s not thinking about Loony Toons, or anything of that variety, because he’s fallen to his knees and is clutching his face, chanting “Ow, ow, ow,” in various tones as he tries to blink through the pain so he can actually see.

Unfortunately, given the fact that he’s not wearing his glasses, he can’t actually see properly, as he realises after two minutes of squinting in vain, waiting for the world to come back into focus.

By then, the pain has subsided somewhat, and he clambers to his feet, hunting around for his glasses. They’re not on the bedside table like they should be, and it takes a few moments for him to remember crashing into the bedside table along the way down to the wall, and subsequently, the ground, and at that point, he lets out a deep sigh and kneels back down.

His glasses have fallen underneath the bed, and he has to contort himself slightly to reach them. When he finally manages to get them out, they’re covered in dust, and he wrinkles his nose before cleaning them off on his shirt and perching them on the bridge of his nose.

There’s another bang; and this time, though he does jump, his reaction isn’t nearly as pronounced. A few moments later, there’s another bang, and then another, and Luke identifies the sound as coming from nextdoor.  _ Must be hanging a picture, _ he thinks, grimly, and sighs. Of course his neighbours would decide to do home-renovation on the day after he finished and defended his thesis.

A few moments pass without any banging, and then it starts up again, and he heaves another sigh and rises from the floor, making his way over to the closet. If he’s going to be up, he may as well be dressed.

Pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he ambles out into the kitchen, phone in hand; only half paying attention as he looks in the fridge, pulling out a container of leftover spaghetti and sticking it into the microwave for a minute.

There’s fifteen emails in his inbox; half of them social, some spam, a few from coworkers and one from a friend of his asking how his defence went. That one, he opens and types a quick reply to, before the microwave dings, necessitating him setting it down to grab the container out. 

He finishes typing out the rest of the reply as he sets the container and a fork down on the bar-counter with his other hand; and pulls out one of the stools, sitting down and finishing the reply before sending it off.

The last email is from an unrecognised contact— _ a.mulder@gmail.com _ . For some reason, the name rings a bell—not a very loud bell, but a bell nonetheless, so instead of deleting it right off the bat, he opens it.

There’s another person cc’d on the email as well— _ philipss@gmail.com _ ; and the bells in his head ring a little louder. He scans the email.

It’s an invitation; written slightly stiltedly, for a trip. The message is signed Aaron Mulder. 

“Oh,” Luke says, and then, more forcefully, “ _ oh. _ ” Suddenly, he realises why the other email looks familiar—Philip Stuart-Sullivan. His two closest friends in highschool. 

They’ve fallen out of touch since leaving their hometown in rural New Jersey, and Luke’s surprised Aaron managed to find their emails. 

He reads it over again. There’s a phone number attached, offering texting if they prefer it. Luke ignored it; hits reply. 

_ When are you thinking? And how long? _

It’s probably not going to work out, he reasons, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. It would be nice to have a chance to reconnect—with Aaron especially. He would never admit it to anyone else, but Luke had a long-standing crush on the other, and, sue him, he’s curious to see how Aaron’s changed in the last nine years. 

And Philip’s always a riot—baby blue eyes and soft blonde hair and a youthful face hiding a brain full of mischief. The three of them were thick as thieves as kids. 

He doesn’t expect a prompt reply; and so he’s surprised when he looks down to find one in his inbox already. 

_ This summer? Two weeks—twelve days to drive to San Francisco—stop at some parks and stuff on the way there—and two to get back. How does that sound for you guys? _

It sounds—great, actually. Luke’s free in the summer—he doesn’t have any classes to teach—and he hasn’t had a proper vacation in ages. A trip to get to know two of his old best friends better and a chance to see some amazing national parks? It sounds, honestly, perfect. 

A part of him resists, though.  _ What if you don’t click anymore? What if you’ve changed too much? It’s been nine years, after all _ .  _ What if _ —and this is most damning— _ they hate you? _

He bats the thoughts away, mutters, “Screw you,” and hits reply. 

_ That sounds great to me—I’m free all summer. It’ll be good to catch up with you guys.  _

The rest of the day he barely has time to think about the emails; too busy running errands. There’s stuff he has to ship to his parents—birthday presents and a novelty menorah he found online that’s shaped like a dinosaur—and he has to get groceries and stationary, both of which take far longer than they really ought to. 

He’s standing in the dairy section of the grocery store, contemplating between whole milk and two percent, when his phone rings. 

When he pulls it out, the caller ID reads Abigail. He answers it. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Luke, hey,” his sister greets, “look, I’m running late to get back home—work is hell today, you would not believe, we got this one client—”

“What do you need?” he asks, gently redirecting her before she gets too off topic. 

She clears her throat; embarrassed. “I know Joel is twelve now, and he’s probably fine to be at home alone for a few more hours, but I was wondering if you could swing by and check on him? The spare key is under the welcome mat.”

Luke checks his watch. “Yeah, I can do that,” he agrees, “do you want me to stay with him until you get back?”

There’s a sigh of relief. “If you don’t mind, please.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll go over there in a bit.”

“Okay, thanks. Love you, bye.”

“Love you too, bye.”

He winds up choosing the whole milk; sticks it in the cart and goes to the self-checkout line.

* * *

Abigail’s house is a small, standalone, single-story craftsman house just outside of New York City, far enough that the noise of it’s muted, but close enough that the skyline is still visible. Luke, remembering Abigail’s words, lifts up the welcome mat to find a single silver key hidden beneath.

The lock clicks softly as he turns the key; and he calls, “Hey, Joel? It’s me, Luke.”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then footsteps; the light turning on. Luke steps inside and toes off his shoes, closing the door behind him.

“Hey Uncle Luke,” Joel says, headset dangling around his neck, “what are you doing here?”

“Your mom’s staying late at work,” Luke explains, “she asked me to come check up on you.”

Joel considers that for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “Do you wanna have something to eat? Mom made stir fry for lunch before she left, and there’s leftovers. I was just gonna get some out for myself.”

“I’d like that,” Luke says, smiling lightly, and follows him into the kitchen; gets out two plates and a set of forks and napkins, setting the table, while Joel microwaves the container of stir fry.

They eat in relative silence; Joel’s popped his headphones on, and he keeps his gaze on his plate. Luke, for his part, doesn’t mind it too much; he’s content to eat the honestly wonderful stir fry in silence and scroll his phone.

After they finish their meal, Luke helps clear the table, and then they relocate to the living room. Joel grabs a book off the bookshelf and curls up in the armchair, leaving Luke to the sofa, where he promptly falls down the rabbit-hole of Wikipedia articles, starting with stegosauruses.

An indeterminate amount of time later, the door creaks open and Abigail’s voice floats through the house. “Hey, I’m home!”

Joel uncurls from the armchair, setting the book down, and rises. “Mom!” he exclaims; smile spreading across his face; and a moment later, Abigail comes into the room, and Joel pulls her into an embrace. 

Abigail grins; wrapping her arms around her son. “Hey,” she says, “I take it the evening was okay?”

“Joel was great,” Luke confirms. “And your stir fry is still great, by the way.”

“You flatter me,” Abigail shoots back, and lets go of Joel. “Thanks for coming over, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

Luke nods. “I didn’t have anything I needed to do tonight, so it was no trouble. But I should get going before I outstay my welcome. Also,” he checks his phone, “it’s getting pretty late, and I wanted to get up early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh?” Abigail raises a brow. “You got something to do?”

“Yeah, life,” he deadpans.

Abigail scowls at him. “No, really, what’s up?”

“Well,” he pauses; and then starts again. “Do you remember Aaron and Philip? From highschool?”

Abigail laughs. “Do I remember them? They were only over at our house like, every day. They were your best friends. ‘course I remember them. What about them?”

“Aaron emailed me earlier—we’re going to meet up and go on a cross-country trip together to get to know each other again since we haven’t seen each other in ages.” 

His sister raises her brows. “Just like that? That seems...kind of hasty.”

“I’m free this summer,” he shoots back defensively, “and it’ll be fun. Plus, I...kind of miss them.”

“Mhm.” Her eyes narrow; a spark lighting in them. “Well, then, you should probably get going—gotta get all that beauty sleep.”

His ears burn. Somehow, he feels like she might know his ulterior motive. He doesn’t dignify it with a response; just says, “Bye, Joel,” to Joel, who’s resituated himself on the armchair, pats Abigail’s shoulder, and makes his way over to the door, slipping his shoes on and making his way out the door.

* * *

The next morning he wakes up in a significantly more dignified manner. The alarm clock goes off, rousing him from his sleep, and he blinks his way out of sleep, stretching an arm out to grab his phone off the bedside table; switches the alarm off and rises.

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt; pads into the kitchen and grabs the cast-iron pan, sticking it on the stove and rummaging through the cabinets for the ingredients for pancakes. 

He spies a bag of chocolate chips at the back of the cabinet; thinks,  _ screw it, _ and pulls it out. He feels briefly bad for indulging, but the guilt is overridden by the desire for chocolate chip pancakes.

They turn out wonderfully; nice and golden-brown, the chocolate chips melted to perfection; and he savours every last bite before grabbing his keys and wallet, sticking his phone in his pocket and sliding on his shoes, latching the door behind him.

Luke, Aaron, and Philip mutually agreed the night before to meet up at a pizza-place Aaron likes to frequent in the city and talk about the trip. They’ve all already agreed to go, but they still need to hash out some minor details—mainly, the sights they’ll be stopping to see in each state.

The pizza-place is small; tucked behind a larger building, it’s hidden in the shadows, and Luke almost misses it when he walks by; only alerted by his phone telling him that he’s arrived at his destination.

He ducks inside; the scent of cheese and basil and oregano hitting him like a freight train; and he has to stop himself from sneezing. When he gets over it though, and glances over the tables.

His gaze catches on one of the ones in the back; two men are sitting together, chatting away; one tall and blonde, with long hair pulled back into a neat braid, and the other with shorter, dark hair, styled into a bob. It takes a few seconds, but Luke eventually manages to match their faces to his memory of the last time he saw Aaron and Philip.

Making his way over to the table, he clears his throat. “Hey, guys.”

The two look up; expressions brightening immediately; and say, in unison, “Luke!”

“We were just waiting for you to get here to order,” says Aaron, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear; brown eyes glinting in the dim lighting.

Luke feels his ears warm. “You shouldn’t have,” he protests.

Philip waves him off. “We didn’t mind,” he replies; and rises. “Do you know what you want?”

“Just plain cheese, I think,” Luke says. 

Philip’s lips twist up. “You always were a bit basic,” he teases; and claps his hands. “Well—let’s get to it, then, eh?”

Aaron rises as well; and they make their way over to the display. Aaron gets a vegetarian slice, while Philip orders a cheese and mushroom, and Luke gets the cheese.

“I’ll pay,” Aaron says, waving off their protestations. “I asked you to come out here to meet me, I might as well pay.”

“It wasn’t that far,” Luke counters.

“Zip it,” Aaron commands, already pulling out his wallet, and deftly moves past the both of them to the counter to pay for their orders.

By his side, Philp sighs in exasperation. “The more things change,” he mutters, and Luke finds himself smiling at the adage. 

They abscond back to their table; and within moments, they’re digging into their slices of pizza, reminiscing about their highschool days and talking about what’s changed for them since then—Aaron went into anthropology, and is hoping to secure a tenure with New York State University at Albany, and Philip retired from dancing to become a welder. Presently, the conversation turns to its intended target: the trip.

“We’ll be going through ten states on the way there,” Aaron says, pulling out a map—an honest to God map, with the route drawn out and everything. Luke feels a familiar fondness rise in him. “We’ll start in NYC, and then go down to Philadelphia, and then through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, the edge of Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada, and then finally through California to San Francisco. Then,” he draws the route in reverse, “days thirteen and fourteen are the return trip. We should get back in the evening on day fourteen. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Philip says; sounding as if Aaron’s already gone through the spiel. 

Luke hums. “We sleeping in the car, or renting hotel rooms?”

Aaron gives him a horrified look. “Hotel rooms,” he says, “definitely hotel rooms. What the hell, Luke—sleeping in the  _ car? _ We’re not teenagers anymore, and I know for one that my bones would  _ not _ be happy.”

“Seconded,” Philip agrees; shuddering; and takes another bite of his pizza. “No way in hell am I sleeping in a car unless there’s literally no other option.”

Luke raises his hands. “Okay, okay,” he laughs. “I get it. Hotels it is.”

“Perfect.” Aaron folds the map up. “I’ve got a list of places to stop in each state—” he turns around, digging through his messenger bag, and pulls out a legal pad. “Here.” He slides it across the table.

Luke lets Philip take it first; still busy polishing off the last of his slice of pizza; and when Philip offers it to him, cleans his fingers on a napkin before taking it. “Zion National Park?” he reads aloud, “that’s in...Utah, right?”

“Yep,” Aaron confirms. “It’s supposed to be gorgeous, and I know you always wanted to visit national parks when we were kids, so,” he shrugs; looking suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, and we’re going to stop at a few zoos, too, for you, Philip.”

“Sweet,” Philip says, with a grin. “I can’t wait.”

“Well, you’ll have to,” Aaron replies, “since we won’t be going until the summer, which isn’t for three more months. I was thinking the first two weeks of July?”

“Sounds good to me,” Luke says, passing the legal pad back; and Philip nods in assent. “I’ll add it into my calendar.”

Aaron claps his hands; rises. “Great,” he says, “well, I’d love to stay, but I have papers to grade, so...”

“Don’t let us keep you,” Philip says, rising as well, and they share an embrace. 

Luke feels suddenly awkward, until Aaron raises his brows. “You going to send me off, or?”

“Yeah,” Luke scoffs, trying to hide his surprise, and rises as well; embracing the other; reveling in the momentary warmth and the scent of sandalwood. When they break apart, they eye each other silently for a moment; and then Aaron laughs and drags him in for another hug.

When they pull apart, Luke swallows thickly. “I missed you guys,” he manages, voice slightly uneven. 

The other two nod. “Me too,” Philip says; and then glances at the floor, ears red. “Honestly, I got super excited when I got your email, Aaron. I haven’t seen you guys in ages, so I’m excited to spend two weeks with you too.”

“Me too,” Luke echoes; and then, “well, we shouldn’t keep you.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron laughs; and grabs his messenger bag, throwing his plate in the garbage. “Goodbye, Luke. Goodbye, Philip.”

“Bye,” they chorus in unison, watching the other make his way out the door.

Luke turns to Philip after a few beats. “Well,” he says, with a self-conscious laugh, “uh. Do you want to grab another slice and catch up some?”

“Sure,” Philip says, grinning.

They spend another hour together in the restaurant; exchanging witticisms and stories of the last nine years. Philip regales him with tales of getting his welding degree, and, in turn, Luke talks about the research he did for his master’s.

Finally, after three more pieces of pizza, Philip checks his watch. “Oh, shit,” he hisses, “I’m sorry, I have to go—I promised my sister that I’d meet up with her and her family. I hope you don’t mind me rushing off—”

Luke waves him off. “It’s fine,” he reassures, “go ahead. I don’t mind.”

Philip smiles; relief illuminating his face; head haloed in the yellow lighting. “Thanks,” he says; and they both rise; and Philip pulls him into a quick hug before dashing off with a “bye!” over his shoulder, leaving Luke standing alone at the table, heart feeling a little tight, a smile wide across his face.

* * *

The heat presses against his skin like a vice; and Luke lets out a half-wheezing breath; reaches up to shove sweat-slicked hair away from his forehead. 

_ Why the heck did I think this was a good idea?  _ he wonders; out of breath and exhausted. He should never have made his new year’s resolution to be more active. 

The pavement is hard beneath his feet; the sun bearing down on him; and he thinks, miserably,  _ I want to die.  _ There’s a  _ reason _ he opted out of PE as soon as he could. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , his phone alarm rings; signalling an end to his torture; and he comes to a halt, doubling over and panting; drags a sweaty palm over his face.

Thankfully, he’s looped around the block, so he’s not too far from his apartment; but the ensuing walk there feels like it takes a thousand years rather than the two minutes it probably actually is. 

When he gets inside, he practically collapses onto the couch; laying there for a few minutes just recovering his breath, eyes shut, breathing slowly evening out; before, finally, he rises and limps into the kitchen; grabbing a cup and filling it with water before gulping it back.

Some spills out over his face; and he sets the now-empty cup on the counter, dragging his hand across his face to wipe away the liquid.

Just standing up feels like a chore, even still; so he relocates to the couch again, scrolling mindlessly through various social media apps and the internet; reads part of a book on sixteenth century fashion before he remembers that he has to pack today, because they’re going to start on their trip in the afternoon.

Dragging himself up off the couch, he makes his way into the bedroom; glad that he already pulled out his suitcase before going on a run.

“Alright,” he says to himself, “what exactly do I need to pack for a two week trip across the country?”

That, as it turns out, is four pairs of pants, three pairs of shorts, thirteen shirts, a sundry number of undershirts and underwear, and a pair of swim trunks just in case. “Perfect,” he says, nodding to himself; and begins to fold them up and pack them into his suitcase. 

After that, he grabs his laptop and charger cords; slots them into the large top pocket, and checks his phone. It’s only quarter past one; so he’s got plenty of time to make his way downtown and meet up with Aaron and Philp.

They’ve decided to meet up at the Met first; spend an hour or two there. Honestly, Luke’s really excited—he’s been to the Met once before, but they change the exhibits, so there’ll probably be plenty of things he hasn’t seen.

He makes his way down to the subway station; hauling his suitcase behind him; glad that he’s brought a water bottle with ice water in it with him, because the heat is even more oppressive underground.

It takes about half an hour to get downtown; and then it’s a fifteen minute walk down to the Met. Once he gets down there, he pulls out his phone, and texts Philip and Aaron.  _ I’m out front. _

A few seconds later, his phone rings. “Hey,” he says, answering it.

Aaron’s voice comes through, slightly tinny. “Hey. I’m pulling the car around so you can put your suitcase in the back. I’m in the black Prius.”

Luke looks up; finds the car in question and waves; making his way over. Aaron rolls down the window. “The back’s unlocked,” he says.

Luke nods. “Great,” he says, going around to open it, and pops his suitcase in the back with the two others that are already there. 

“We’re going to go park,” Aaron calls from the front. “You’re welcome to get in, or we can meet you inside.”

Luke makes his way around to the front; opens the side door and steps inside, sitting down with a sigh of relief. “I think I’m done walking anywhere that isn’t air conditioned today,” he says; getting a laugh out of Philip, who’s sitting in the passenger seat.

Philip twists around to look at him. “You look...rough,” he comments, “did you run a marathon or something?”

“Or something,” Luke echoes, taking a large swig from his water bottle. 

Philip tracks the motion; blue eyes bright, lips twisted into what seems to be a near-perpetual smile; haloed by the light streaming in from the windshield. “The more things change, huh?”

Luke reaches out, swatting at him lightly. “Shut up. You try running for fifteen minutes in this weather and see how you like it.”

The other laughs; the sound light and airy; and something in Luke’s chest jumps.

He sighs. Stupid exercise—it’s probably a heart palpitation or something, with his luck. 

They get inside alright; there’s a bit of a holdup because they didn’t buy tickets in advance, but it’s sorted out fairly quickly, and then they’re walking through the main hall, the ceiling soaring above them. 

Luke, despite having been there before, almost gapes at the majesty of it all. By his side, Philip is equally awed. 

Aaron, on the other hand, isn’t so easily impressed. “Quit gaping and come on,” he orders, “we only have an hour, and I want to see as many exhibits as possible.”

Cowed, Luke mumbles, “Sorry,” and quickens his pace to match the taller man. Philip seems unaffected by the rebuke, but he too hastens to their side. 

Their first stop is the ancient Greek exhibit; and this time, even Aaron is impressed. 

Philip, who’s wandered ahead, calls out, “Hey, Luke, c’mere.”

Luke makes his way over to his side; and Philip points at one of the statues. “It looks just like you,” he says. “Though probably not as well-endowed.”

Luke’s ears go hot; his cheeks flaming. “Philip!” he hisses, “you—you—”

The other bursts into peals of laughter. “Your  _ face, _ ” he gasps, bending over and wheezing slightly. “Your  _ face, _ oh my god.”

“I hate you,” Luke says. “I’m never talking to you again. Aaron’s my only friend. I hate you.”

Aaron appears at his side. “What’s he done  _ now, _ ” he asks; tone exasperated. 

Luke grimaces. “There’s no way I’m repeating what he said.”

Philip, unfortunately, has no such compunctions. “I said—”

Luke slaps a hand over his mouth. A second later, he feels a wet sensation against his palm, and has to stifle a shriek; pulling his hand away. “You _ licked _ me!” he accuses. 

The other grins at him. “Yeah,” he says, nonchalantly. 

Aaron sighs; pulling a napkin out of nowhere, and takes Luke’s hand in his own; skin warm to the touch, and wipes the offending spit away. “There,” he said. “Now can we please be serious and enjoy the exhibits like we’re meant to?”

“I’m enjoying myself just fine,” Philip counters; and then, under Aaron’s glare, buckles. “Fine.”

“Great,” Aaron says. “Now come on, I want to see the Roman art.” 

They see the Roman art. It’s not terribly different from the Greek art as far as Luke can tell, but he’s hardly an expert on it; and it makes Aaron light up as he talks about various pieces of statuary and pottery, expression almost beatific, dark hair bouncing slightly as he walks; so Luke counts it as a win.

After that, they sample the Renaissance exhibit; and then move on to one dedicated to Fabrigé eggs, complete with examples of finely decorated porcelain eggs; gilded with gold and silver.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Philip pipes up, around two exhibits later, “but I’m starving. What do you say we go check out the food court?”

Luke nods in agreement. “Sounds good. Aaron?”

The other hums. “Alright,” he says; and they make their way to the food court.

As they wait in line, Luke pulls off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt; silently bemoaning how dirty they still remain despite his best efforts. “Oh well,” he mutters, and shoves them back on.

There’s a tap on his shoulder; and he turns to find Philip holding out a bottle of glasses-cleaner. “Here,” he says, “this should help.”

Their fingers brush as Luke takes the bottle; and for a second, it feels like lightning is coursing beneath his skin before he pulls away and it dissipates. “Thanks,” he says, “uh, can I ask why you have glasses-cleaner? I mean, you don’t wear glasses...do you?”

Philip smiles. “Contacts,” he says, “glasses get in the way of things, but I carry a bottle around for when I’m waiting for my contacts to come and I have to wear my glasses for a day or two.”

“Ah. Well. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The glasses-cleaner does wonders; and Luke thanks Philip again as he hands the bottle back. Philip just shakes his head, smiling slightly, and tells him it’s no big deal.

Finally, they’ve all gotten their food, and Aaron leads them to a table, and they dig into their food.

“I think I should have gotten the noodle salad instead,” Aaron complains; prodding at his meatloaf, and lets out a dramatic sigh. 

Luke stifles a laugh. “If you wanted to trade, you could have just asked,” he points out; swapping their plates.

Aaron gives him a grateful look. “You’re a darling,” and Luke’s heart jumps for a second, before he says, “now, Philip, be a dear and share your chocolate cupcake.”

Luke ducks his head; feeling slightly foolish; and begins to dig into the meatloaf; unable to meet either of the other two men’s gazes for a good fifteen minutes.

After that, they wander through a few more exhibits; and then realise they’ve started to overrun their allotted hour of time; so they make a hasty exit and take the car to the ferry dock.

“You know, it’s weird that I’ve lived in New York for years and I’m only now getting to see the Statue of Liberty properly,” Philip comments as they lounge on the ferry to Staten Island. “It’s like I missed an important milestone or something.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Aaron replies, “it’s never too late to hit a milestone.”

Philip’s lips twitch; and he shifts in the seat slightly; pulling his braid over his shoulder. “I guess not,” he says.

“Your braid’s coming undone,” Luke points out, after a few beats. “Here, I can help you redo it, if you want. Don’t worry,” he adds, “I have lots of practice doing my sister’s hair, so I won’t mess it up.”

The other huffs; amused. “I didn’t think you would,” he says; and turns to let Luke undo it.

Luke cards his fingers through the hair, relishing the softness, and begins to part it into sections. “French or Dutch braid?” he asks.

Philip shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“You should do a crown braid,” Aaron advises; voice full of mirth. “A crown for our dearest Prince Philip.”

“Shut up,” Philip laughs, reaching out to cuff Aaron.

“Can I?” Luke asks; fully serious. “I haven’t gotten to do one in ages, and my own hair’s too short.”

Philip worries his lip for a moment, and then says, “All right.”

Luke grins. “Sweet,” he says, and sets to work pulling the other’s hair into an elaborate crown braid. It turns out quite nice, in his own opinion, and he sits back to admire his own handiwork.

“You look really nice,” Aaron says, after a few beats; voice soft; and then to Luke: “Wonderful job, darling.”

“You flatter me,” Luke mutters, blushing; but his heart rises, and the memory of Philip’s hair in his hands remains.

They see the Statue of Liberty; spend about twenty minutes walking around the base before deciding that the novelty has worn off and taking the ferry back to the dock. 

Aaron offers to take first shift driving; and Philip concedes the passenger seat to Luke; and with that, they’re off to Philadelphia, rock music blaring obnoxiously from the radio as Aaron sings along despite their protestations, because he’s invoked driver’s privilege.

* * *

They get to Philadelphia late at night, and decide to book a hotel rather than try and go out and see any landmarks. Luke and Philip dawdle in the lobby while Aaron books their room. Luke takes advantage of the coffee-machine and makes them each cups, handing Philip his before picking up his own and Aaron’s.

“Alright,” Aaron says, making his way over to them, suitcase in one hand, “we’re in room 403, so we’ll have to take the elevator—” he cuts himself off at the sight of the coffee-cup Luke’s holding out to him; takes it and takes a long pull. “Oh, darling, you spoil me,” he half-moans, closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

“We’re in public,” Philip says, “can you quit acting like a hooker for three seconds?”

Aaron gives him an offended look. “First off, Philip, dear, I’d be an escort,” he rebukes, gesturing broadly to himself. “Secondly, you can’t reprimand me—you’ve practically been hanging off poor Luke for the past fifteen minutes.”

“I have not!” Philip protests, and hastily moves a few steps away so he’s not standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Luke. Luke stifles a laugh at their antics.

“We should probably get going up to our room,” he says, trying to get them back on track, and tilts his suitcase, making his way to the elevators, holding the doors open for them. A few seconds later, Philip and Aaron follow after.

“We going out to eat, or ordering room service?” Philip asks; ostensibly directing the question at both of them, but Luke knows instinctively he’s mostly waiting for Aaron’s response.

It’s funny—it was the same way in highschool, with Aaron as the reluctant leader of their little band of misfits. Though, he seems to have grown into the role by now.

Aaron hums; leaning against the wall; and then reaches up to brush a lock that’s escaped back behind his ear. “Fuck it,” he says, “we’re treating ourselves. Might as well get room service.”

“Hell yeah!” Philip cheers; somehow managing to look radiant in the flickering yellow overhead lighting. Honestly, Luke’s convinced that he’s the only one of the three of them that didn’t wind up gorgeous.

They get up to the room a few minutes later, and Luke shoves his suitcase against the wall and collapses onto one of the beds with a groan, leaving Aaron and Luke to look through the room service menu.

It’s a few moments later when he realises that there’s only two beds. Sitting up, he bites his lip before raising his voice. “Uh, hey, guys, not to interrupt, but there’s only two beds.”

Aaron pulls the phone away from his ear, and turns to stare at him like he’s daft. “Yeah?” he says, “two queens—saves more money than renting two rooms. I figured we can book two queens at each hotel and rotate who shares. If it really bothers you, we can go downstairs and book you a separate room,” he adds, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable—this is supposed to be fun.”

Luke shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. I just...wasn’t sure if you were sure what you were doing.” Even saying it, he sounds silly.

Aaron smiles crookedly. “Don’t worry about me, babe,” he reassures, “now c’mere and decide what you want to order. Philip’s already put in his order.”

“Alright,” Luke says, and leverages himself off the bed, making his way over to the others’ side, leaning over Philip’s shoulder to read the menu.

In the end he orders a spinach omelette and a plate of crepes, and they put on the tv and sprawl out on the bed.

“You know, I didn’t think I’d ever see you guys again after highschool,” Luke admits. “We were all so desperate to get out of there—”

“That shithole,” Philip contributes, ever-charming. Aaron makes a sound of agreement.

Luke continues. “We were all so desperate to get out of there, I thought we’d all wind up scattered to the winds. But no, we all wound up settling a stone’s throw from where we grew up.” He hesitates. “I’m glad, though,” he adds, softly.

When he looks up, both Philip and Aaron’s expressions are soft; full of something unnamed. “Me too,” Aaron agrees.

They sit there in silence for a few moments, before Aaron says, “Hey, babe, do you want to try some of my nachos with sriracha sauce?”

Philip eyes him with distaste. “And inflict hell on my gastrointestinal tract? No thanks. You enjoy.” He sniffs, and mutters, “Heathen.”

Aaron laughs. “Luke?”

Luke shakes his head. “I’ll pass,” he says, “I’m good with my omelette, thanks.”

The other shrugs. “Your loss, then,” he says, and liberally pours the aforementioned sauce all over his nachos, digging in. Philip, by his side, makes a face, and Luke finds himself stifling a laugh.

It feels...good, honestly, to just casually be in their presence again. They’ve fallen easily back into their old dynamic, and Luke, for one, is incredibly grateful—he’d been afraid that they’d be stiff and awkward after nine years out of contact with each other.

Eventually, they finish their meals, and take turns using the shower, before changing into their nightclothes. Luke opts for shorts and a t-shirt, while Aaron goes with a ratty wife beater and a pair of boxers. 

When Philip comes out of the bathroom, Luke has to stop himself from gaping. The other’s wearing a well-worn shirt that reads  _ Baby Slut  _ on it. “It’s comfortable,” Philip defends, crossing his arms across his chest.

“And you were saying  _ I  _ looked like a hooker,” Aaron laughs, shaking his head.

“Shut  _ up, _ ” Philip says, face bright red, but holds his head high as he climbs into bed with Luke. “If you say anything I’ll kill you,” he threatens, face inches from Luke’s, before he turns off the light.

“I wasn’t going to,” Luke says, but the amusement in his voice speaks volumes, and Philip kicks him, ensuing in a multiple-minute long foot-fight beneath the blankets.

* * *

Their first stop the next morning—after breakfast and a round of bickering over where to go—is the Liberty Bell. There’s a throng of people all around them, and they have to navigate it like a boat through water.

“It’s less impressive than I expected it to be,” is Phlip’s contribution as they stand before the bell itself. It’s got the storied crack right down the middle, and it’s a copper-green, glinting slightly in the sunlight.

“Quit complaining and come into frame so I can get a photo of you and Luke,” Aaron says, “we don’t have all day.”

Philip sighs deeply; as if incredibly put-upon by the request, but does as directed; slinging an arm around Luke, the point of contact warm all over his shoulders. 

“Alright,” Aaron says, “good—wait, Luke, move closer to Philip a little, you’re blocking the bell.”

“Blocking the bell, he says,” Luke mutters, but does as told; pressing closer into Philip’s side. Aaron takes a few photos and then hands the phone off to a bystander so they can get a photo of all three of them; and Luke suddenly finds himself sandwiched between the two of them; skin burning. He can smell the sandalwood cologne Aaron uses; can feel Phlip’s hair brushing against his skin. 

It only lasts a few seconds before Aaron pulls away and retrieves the phone. “You two look absolutely darling,” he says, going through the camera roll. 

Luke’s heart does a backflip. “You’re being ridiculous,” he manages.

Aaron shakes his head. “Nope. You both look sexy as hell.”

Philip puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ignore him,” he says, “he’s just being a dick.”

“You wound me!” Aaron cries, dramatically. Luke stifles a laugh.

They get lunch at a nearby food-truck. It’s Greek, which Luke hasn’t had in ages, so he orders a gyro, relishing the flavour of it. 

After that, they get back in the car, this time with Luke driving, and make their way to the Carnegie Museum. It’s not quite as big as the Met, but it’s got a pleasant atmosphere, something about it feeling inviting.

They wind up wandering around for an hour or two; taking photos of their favourite pieces. Luke in particular is drawn to the eighteenth century works. The paintings all have an almost satin-like appearance, even up close, and the skin of the subjects looks real enough that it almost seems like he could reach out and touch it.

He doesn’t; just turns his attention to Philip, by his side. The other’s half-bathed in one of the overhead lights, throwing his normally blonde hair into gold, the stray hairs forming a halo around his head.

When he speaks, his voice is hushed. “Do you think we could steal a painting?”

Luke snaps his teeth together with an audible  _ click _ . “ _ What? _ ” he chokes out.

Philip repeats himself. “Just in theory,” he adds, “not, like, that I think we should steal a painting, just, you know, do you think we  _ could  _ do it?”

“That is...the weirdest question I’ve heard all day,” Luke finally manages.

Philip turns to Aaron. “Do  _ you _ think we could steal a painting?”

“Probably,” Aaron says, and then cocks his head. “Depends on the painting, though.”

“Don’t  _ encourage _ him,” Luke hisses. 

“No, no, you’re right,” Philip says, consideringly. “Uh, let’s say this one.  _ Robert Colt of Auldhame, M.P., and his wife Grizel _ .”

“Hmm. How many people are we talking about on the team?”

“Oh my God.” Luke shakes his head. “I hate you two. You’re absurd.”

“That’s why you love us, darling,” Aaron says, eyes glittering, and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up, and then, without missing a beat, goes right back to planning the heist.

Luke does his best to tune them out and concentrate on the paintings.

After the Carnegie Museum, they make their way to Lake Erie. Luke’s extremely glad he brought his swim trunks, because the water is delightfully cool, a nice contrast to the heat of the sun beating down on them.

“Here, let me get that for you,” Aaron says, when he spots Luke struggling to get sun cream on his back, holding out his hand for the bottle.

Luke hands it to him. “Thanks,” he says, and Aaron just lets out a hum, beginning to rub it in. His hands are soft against Luke’s skin, and at first, the touch feels shocking; like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. After a few moments, though, the sensation subsides, leaving only comfort behind.

“There,” Aaron says, stepping back, and hands him the bottle of sun cream back. “Now you won’t turn into a lobster.”

“Thanks,” Luke says, again; feeling slightly breathless.

Aaron pats his shoulder. “No problem, babe,” he says, and makes his way over to Philip, leaving Luke’s cheeks burning.

They spend about two hours at the beach before heading back to the car. It’s Philip’s turn to drive, and, thankfully, his music choices are significantly more tolerable than Aaron’s—classical and jazz, rather than rock and heavy metal.

About halfway through the drive, Philip whispers, “Shit,” and presses hard on the brakes.

Luke, who had just started to fall asleep, jolts awake. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning forward. Aaron, in the passenger seat, is already reaching out to the other.

“No, don’t touch me,” Philip snaps; pulling off to the side of the road and bringing the car to a halt. Aaron pulls away as if stung.

Philip’s breathing heavily; eyes slightly glossy. “Sorry,” he says, after a few beats. “Sorry, sorry, just...my shoulder. I think it’s dislocated.”

“Dislocated?” Aaron’s voice is high.

Luke frowns. “We should get you to an ER—”

Philip waves him off with his other hand. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. It’s, uh. Part of my medical condition. Just...give me a bit, and I’ll pop it back in.”

“Pop it back in?” Luke echoes, “Philip, are you sure—?”

“Yes, I’m sure, damnit, I’ve been dealing with this since highschool!” His voice is low and angry, and tears are running down his cheeks now. “Fuck,” he says, and then again, more emphatically: “Fuck! Shit, fuck. I’m just—God. Give me a few.  _ Please. _ ” The last bit is half a whisper; plantative.

Aaron and Luke exchange a look. “Alright,” Aaron says, “you know best.”

They sit there for a good fifteen minutes before, shaking slightly, Philip grips his shoulder and takes a deep breath before pushing, hard. There’s an audible pop, and he lets out a quiet whimper, face shinning with sweat, and then there’s silence again.

“Hey,” Luke ventures, “do you want one of us to take over driving?”

“I can do it,” Philip says, but his voice is strained.

“Okay, you  _ can _ ,” Luke agrees, “but do you want to?”

There’s a long silence, and then: “...no.”

“Alright. Aaron, do you want to take the wheel?”

Aaron seems to shake himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,” he says. 

“Great. Philip, how about you come lay down in the back.”

“I’m not a fucking invalid,” Philip snaps, before he sighs. “Sorry. Just—”

“It’s fine,” Luke assures. “You don’t have to explain. Would you rather sit up?”

Philip nods. “Yeah.”

It takes a few minutes, but they manage to get everyone arranged. Luke’s just about to get up and move to the passenger seat when there’s a hand on his arm. “Can you...stay with me?” Philip asks. “I mean, you don’t have to—”

Luke cuts him off. “Sure,” he says, softly and sits back down. Philip leans against him, letting out a breath of relief; and for the rest of the drive they stay pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, Philip eventually falling asleep leaning on him.

* * *

Luke wakes slowly. His body feel stiff, contorted into an awkward position, and for a moment, he’s about to stretch, before he remembers that the weight on him is Philip, who’s still asleep.

In the rearview mirror, Aaron meets his gaze. “Hey,” he murmurs. “How are you guys holding up back there.”

“Alright.” He pauses. “I think. Where are we?”

“Parking lot of the hotel,” Aaron answers. “I was going to wake you, but I thought you two deserved the rest. Philip especially.” His lips thin. “I know he said not to take him to the ER, but...I just want him to be okay.”

“So do I,” Luke agrees, “but you heard him—it’s a medical condition. He probably knows way better than we do. If he says not to take him to the ER, then we don’t take him to the ER.”

Aaron sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I just...I worry.”

“Me too,” Luke says.

The weight on his shoulder shifts. “Worry about what?” Philip asks, voice muzzy with sleep. 

Aaron and Luke exchange a glance. “Nothing,” Luke replies. “We’re at the hotel. We should probably go get checked in.”

“Right.” Philip yawns and stretches, his back cracking like fireworks. Luke winces slightly at the sound. “Luke, could you get the door?”

“Sure.” Luke reaches out, unlocking and opening the door, and unbuckles his seatbelt, getting out. The pavement is warm beneath his feet, even through his shoes, despite the fact that the sun’s already set, casting the clouds into brilliant reds, purples, and greens.

Philip follows him out, and stretches his arms, yawning again. “Okay,” he says, “I call the single bed tonight.”

Aaron, who’s just gotten out of the car, nods. “That sounds alright to me,” he says. “Luke?”

“Yeah, that sounds fine,” Luke confirms.

Aaron claps his hands. “Great,” he says, and makes his way over to the back, grabbing both his own and Philip’s suitcase. 

Philip makes momentary protest; but at Aaron’s glare, falls silent with only minimal grumbling.

This time, it’s up to Luke to get them checked in, and after a few moments of waiting in line, he reaches the front desk. The woman who’s manning it is named Julie, according to her nametag, and she flirts with him as he gets them checked in.

He’s glad when they finally get checked in and he can escape into the elevator, leaning against the wall.

“So,” says Philip, breaking the silence. “That receptionist seemed super into you.”

“I mean, can you blame her?” Aaron asks. “He’s handsome and cute—perfect combination.”

“You should get her number when we come down for breakfast,” Philip suggests, and Aaron falls oddly silent; hands stilling by his sides.

Luke shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “She’s at least ten years older, and I’m gay besides.”

Philip blinks. “Oh,” is all he says; and then: “that’s really funny, because so am I.”

“What are the odds all three of us are gay?” Luke asks wryly, and then yawns widely. “Ugh. I can’t wait to get into bed.”

“Hotel beds are the best,” Aaron agrees. “But we should get something to eat first. I saw a Chinese place on the way here—I can order takeout, if you guys want?”

Philip and Luke exchange a look. “Sounds good to me,” Luke says. 

Philip nods.

They make there way down the hall to their room; and Philip takes his suitcase from Aaron, digging through it before coming up with a package of brightly coloured strips. Sitting on the bed, he pulls off his shirt with his uninjured arm, and then begins to apply the coloured strips to his injured shoulder.

Luke, the only other one in the room—Aaron went to go pick up their order—does his best not to stare at the other’s muscular chest; averting his eyes and staring pointedly at the floor instead.

Philip mistakes it for something else. “I’m not embarrassed about it,” he says, “you don’t have to be embarrassed for me.”

“I’m not,” Luke protests; unable to explain his true reasoning; and instead just opts for, “is it feeling any better?”

Philip shrugs. “It still hurts,” he says. “But it’s better than it was. It’s, uh, been a while since something dislocated, so it caught me kind of off guard.”

“Oh. Is there...” Luke hesitates, before continuing. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Grab the hot pack from my suitcase,” Philip instructs. “There should also be a prescription bottle in the top pocket, if you could grab that, and a cup of water.” Luke does as told; helping position the hot pack over Philip’s shoulder, before handing him the yellow prescription bottle, and a cup of water. “Thanks,” Philip says, popping two of the pills and downing them with the water.

“No problem,” Luke replies, setting a comforting hand on Philip’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m just glad I could help.”

The smile that Philip gives him is a bit stronger; and he sets a hand over Luke’s. “Seriously, thanks,” he says, “it’s...been a while since anyone helped me with it.”

“Oh. Well, then, thanks for trusting me.”

Philip’s lips twitch; as if he’s amused by the words. “You should probably go shower and get the sand out of your hair.”

Luke laughs. “Yeah, probably,” he agrees; but doesn’t move for a long beat, just staying there with Philip’s hand over his own, the point of contact warm and comforting.

He does get into the shower eventually. The water pressure is amazing, and he spends a good ten minutes just standing under it and soaking it in before he grabs one of the little bottles of shampoo and sets to work working it through his hair. 

When he gets out of the shower, Aaron’s back, sitting on the end of the other bed, watching tv. 

“Is that the Bachelor?” look asks; squinting as he dries off his glasses. 

“Yep,” Aaron says, popping the p. “Your pot stickers and spring rolls are on the table, by the way. Vegetarian, like you wanted.”

Luke slides his glasses back on. “Thanks,” he says, and grabs the boxes off the table, sitting down next to Aaron. 

The food is delicious; the flavours excellently balanced, and Luke digs in. About halfway through the episode, Aaron scoots closer. “Hey,” he says, lowly, looking up and Luke through dark lashes. 

Luke sighs. “Fine, you can have some.”

“You’re a darling,” Aaron says, and steals one of his spring rolls. He doesn’t move from his position though, remaining close enough that Luke can feel the body heat radiating off of him.

They sit there watching bad tv for about another hour, before Luke’s yawns start getting too closely spaced together to ignore, and Philip suggests they turn in for the night. Luke, for his part, is more than happy to do so; warm and full, the only thing missing is the soft comfort of a pillow beneath his head.

He lays down fully expecting to fall asleep near instantly, tired as he is, with how comfortable the bed is. 

Unfortunately, the universe has other plans for him. Instead of falling asleep, all he can do is lay awake, remembering the whimper of pain from Philip earlier. It catches on his mind, and refuses to let go. 

When he finally banishes the worry, there’s another issue: the fact that Aaron is mere inches away from him. If he’d been able to fall asleep earlier, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but now, his eyes are used to the dark; and he finds himself tracing the features of the other; the high, arched brows, the slightly crooked nose, and mop of dark hair splayed out across the pillow; the thick lashes against pale skin.

When he finally, finally falls asleep, it’s with the mental image of the other burnt solidly into his mind’s eye; his delicate features etched into his memory in near-perfect detail.

* * *

The next morning, Luke wakes up before the others; rises with a large yawn, stretching his arm with a satisfying pop, and makes his way into the bathroom for a morning shower.

When he gets out, he eyes himself in the mirror. His hair looks fine, but his eyes have light bags beneath them, and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow despite the fact that it’s only been two days since he shaved.

He lets out a deep sigh, and goes to fetch his shaving kit.

When he steps out into the room, Philip’s sitting on the edge of his bed, doing what looks like a set of stretches.

“Hey,” Luke murmurs.

“Hey yourself,” Philip replies. “You going to do something about that stubble?”

Luke huffs a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I was just about to,” he says, holding up his shaving kit. “Don’t want to look like someone dragged me out of a gritty film.”

“Mmm. Probably for the best. You’d make a shitty extra.”

“Rude.”

“True,” Philip counters; which, fair enough. “Do you want a hand with it?”

“What, do you not trust me to not cut myself?”

Philip huffs. “Alright, alright, forget I asked. I just figured I have steadier hands than you, but if you want to do it yourself, have at it. I won’t call you an ambulance if you cut your own throat, though.”

“Harsh,” Luke laughs, and pulls the door closed behind him.

It takes him a bit to get rid of it all, but once he does, Aaron’s woken up as well. Philip’s gotten dressed, but Aaron’s lazing in bed, watching what looks like a soap opera on the tv. Luke clears his throat. “Are you guys coming down to breakfast with me, or?”

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” Aaron says, “you two dolls go ahead. I’ll have a snack on the way to the zoo.”

“Okay,” Luke says. “Philip, you coming?”

“Yeah, give me a second,” the other replies; and pulls the prescription bottle out of his suitcase, downing two pills with a swig of water. “Alright,” he says, making his way over to Luke. “Let’s go.”

The ride down to the lobby is a quiet one; it’s still fairly early in the morning, and despite the shower, Luke still feels half asleep, and Philip’s eyelids keep drooping. 

Breakfast is buffet style; and Luke gets himself a plate of crepes and fruit. Philip opts for significantly less; just two muffins and a thing of yogurt, his motions slow, as if underwater, and Luke finds his worry for the other growing.

When they sit down, Luke reaches out to gently put his hand on Philip’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, gently, “you doing okay? You seem sort of out of it.”

“I’m fine,” Philip says; voice monotone, and Luke frowns.

“Are you sure? Because it’s alright if you’re not.”

There’s a pause; and then Philip says, “Look, you have to stop worrying about me. I’m as fine as I’m going to be. I’m not—I’m not going to get better, okay? It’s, it’s chronic. I live with this every day of my life.”

“Okay,” Luke says. “Is there anything I can do that’ll make things easier for you right now, though?”

There’s a beat; and then Phillip huffs lightly. “You know, it’s been a long time since anyone asked that.”

“Is there?”

“I...” there’s a long pause; and Philip takes a bite of his muffin, chewing slowly. “No,” he says, finally. “No, there isn’t.”

“Okay.”

“...okay?” Philip stares at him in disbelief; eyes wide and blue; expression one of confusion.

“Okay,” Luke repeats. “I’m not going to push it. If you need something, though, I just want you to know that you can ask me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Philip takes another bite of his muffin, and then another; and then: “um. It’s the medication. It’s, uh, a painkiller, but it makes me kind of out of it. Just so you know. I’m probably not going to be the best conversationalist.”

“That’s fine,” Luke assures, squeezing his shoulder slightly.

The expression that crosses Philip’s face is one of intense relief; and suddenly, Luke wants to pull him into a long, long hug, and never let go; wants to press a kiss to his forehead and assure him things will be okay. He can’t, though, because things aren’t going to be okay, and that’s something both of them know full-well, now.

Instead, he opts for offering the other a smile. “Now,” he says, “we should probably eat and get back to Aaron before he binges a full season of whatever soap opera he’s watching and dies of boredom.”

That gets a laugh from Philip.

They finish up their meals and make their way back upstairs, where Aaron’s still in his nightclothes watching tv. “Alright, time to put on some proper clothes,” Luke says, “we’re going to the zoo.”

“Sounds great, babe,” Aaron says, and doesn’t move.

Luke sighs. “Philip, can you turn off the tv?”

“What—? No!” Aaron protests, but it’s too late; Philip’s switched it off. “They were just about to reveal who the murderer was!” Aaron wails.

“I’m sure there’s reruns later in the day,” Luke says, evenly. “Now put on something that’s appropriate for public, and let’s go.”

“This is a fucking dictatorship,” Aaron complains, but drags himself out of bed and pulls on a pair of shorts an a shirt that actually covers his midrift, much to Luke’s relief and guilty disappointment.

They make their way down to the parking lot; and Luke turns on the GPS, inputting the destination.

When they arrive, it’s still fairly early, and the zoo isn’t terribly crowded. They make their way to the aquarium first, admiring the brilliantly coloured fish and letting out awed gasps at the large tank with the manta-rays.

Philip insists that they go to the stingray station, where there’s a shallow tank of stingrays and a sign that says  _ pet me _ —an order by which they’re all more than willing to oblige.

“They feel so  _ weird, _ ” Aaron says, with a laugh, running his hand over one of the stingrays. “They’re, like, smooth and scaly at the same time. It’s wild.”

Luke hums in agreement; and sneakily takes a few photos of Luke and Aaron grinning unabashedly at the fish. When Aaron notices, he insists that Luke lets him take some photos of him, too, which Luke reluctantly acquiesces to.

Aaron’s right; the stingrays do feel weird, but not unpleasant; in fact, the texture is almost soothing. “I kind of want to have my own stingrays,” Luke says.

Philip hums in agreement. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, but I get what you mean,” he replies. “They’re kind of therapeutic.”

Luke snaps his fingers. “Therapeutic—that’s the word! Exactly. They’re therapeutic.”

“Alright, we’ve been here for twenty minutes petting the stingrays,” Aaron announces finally, “and I want to see the other animals. Let’s go.”

“Just a second,” Luke replies, and takes one last photo of the stingrays. “I’m naming this one Rosencrantz, and this one Guildenstern,” he says, showing Philip and Aaron the photos.

“They look exactly the same to me,” Philip says, leaning over Luke’s shoulder, a strand of his hair falling out of his ponytail.

“That’s the point,” Luke replies, just about to point out that Philip’s hair is coming out of his ponytail, when Aaron speaks.

“Your ponytail is falling out, dear,” he says to Philip, “here, let me get it.”

Philip lets him undo his hair and pull it back into a neater ponytail. “Thanks,” he says, with a dazzling smile, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be a mess, probably,” Aaron replies, without missing a beat. “Now let’s go see the big cats before the zoo gets too crowded.”

* * *

After the zoo, they make their way to the Toledo Museum of Art.

It’s a wonderful place; the pillars of the structure rising high and pale. They remind Luke of doric columns.

Inside is even more breathtaking. The room they’re in has red walls and polished wooden floors, with a massive skylight above them. The paintings on the walls are equally breathtaking; detailed into the minutea.

Philip’s decided to play the museum theft game again; and he’s walking around considering various paintings while mumbling under his breath. When he loops back around to where Luke is standing, admiring a portrait, he announces, “The cameras have three blindspots.”

“That’s...” Luke grasps for words, before sighing. “You know what, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“You’re boring,” Philip huffs, and turns to Aaron. “I think we could probably steal at least three of these with no problem.” His eyes are shining, and his hair, already coming out of the ponytail again, creates a light golden halo around his head. 

Aaron hums. “Which three?” he asks.

Philip launches into a long-winded explanation. Luke does his best to tune it out and concentrate on the paintings, mostly succeeding.

They stop for lunch at the cafeteria; Aaron gets lasagne, while Philip opts for some pastries, and Luke gets a noodle salad. The food is all good, but Luke finds himself picking at it, unable to concentrate; the air around him buzzing; his leg jiggling beneath the table.

It’s not until halfway through another one of the rooms that he realises he hasn’t taken his medication in two days. Doing his best not to sound too anxious, he says, “Hey, guys, how much longer are we thinking we’re going to be here?”

Aaron frowns at him. “Not too long, maybe half an hour. Why?”

“It’s nothing,” Luke dismisses, trying to keep his voice even. “It doesn’t matter. I can wait half an hour.”

“Are you sure?” Philip pipes up. “We can get going now, if you want.”

Luke shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he repeats, “I don’t want to disrupt the experience.”

This time, both of them frown at him. “That’s a terrible excuse,” Philip says, bluntly, “you’re obviously not doing okay. What’s wrong?”

Luke swallows thickly; shame flooding through him as he admits, “I forgot to take my meds. Both today and yesterday.”

“Well, shit,” Philip says, exchanging a glance with Aaron. “Alright, forget the museum, we’re getting you back to the hotel and you’re going to take your meds, and then we’re going to take the rest of the day easy.”

“You guys don’t have to do this,” Luke protests. “Seriously, I don’t want to cut into your enjoyment of things—”

“Listen, babe,” Aaron cuts in, putting a hand on his shoulder, “if you’re not having fun, we’re not having fun either. So we’re going to do what Philip suggested, and get you back to the hotel, and you’re going to take your meds, and then we’re going to spend the rest of the day in bed watching reruns of the Bachelorette or something.”

Realising it’s futile to argue, Luke sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But I get to pick the bad tv we watch.”

“Sure,” Aaron nods. “Now let’s go.”

The ride back to the hotel is quiet. Luke spends it staring out the window, mind racing with a thousand thoughts, each of them piggybacking off the last one.

When they get into the hotel, Luke makes a beeline for his suitcase, digging out his prescription bottle, and downs a pill with a glass of water. Philip and Aaron have already settled onto one of the beds, so Luke makes his way to the other before Aaron calls out, “Hey, no, come here.”

“You guys are already there, though,” Luke protests.

Aaron raises a brow. “And?” he asks. “We can make room. Now come over here.”

A few beats pass; and Luke purses his lips before doing as told; climbing into the bed alongside the other two. Presently, he finds himself sandwiched between the two of them; Aaron’s arm thrown over his shoulder, pressed into Philip’s side.

The tv’s set to the Syfy channel; and there’s something on that Luke vaguely recognises as the Magicians; but he’s hardly paying attention, too busy reveling in the comfort that being between the other two brings.

He remembers, vaguely, something similar happening in highschool. He’d only been recently diagnosed with ADHD, and he’d spent a day having a breakdown over it—the stress and anxiety compounding into a deadly poison within him.

Aaron and Philip had found him, hiding behind the bleachers outside, shivering, half-soaked in the downpour that had yet to let up. They’d scolded him for neglecting his health, and dragged him back inside. Afraid they were going to try and force him back to class, Luke had protested; and Aaron and Philip had stared at him blankly. 

_ You idiot, _ Aaron had said, affectionate and exasperated.  _ We’re going to get you into something dry, and then Philip is going to drive us to your place, and we’re going to spend the playing video games. _

_ But you’ll miss class, _ Luke had protested.  _ I can’t make you do that. _

_ You’re not making us do anything, _ Philip had said, firmly.  _ We’re doing this because we care about you, and we want to make sure you’re alright. _

_ Oh, _ Luke had said; unable to say much else; too shocked; and Philip and Aaron had ushered him into the bathroom, handing him his PE clothes, and then, as promised, Philip had driven them to Luke’s place and they’d spent the rest of the day playing video games and eating junk food.

“Something on your mind?” Aaron asks; breaking Luke out of his reverie.

Luke shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says, with a small smile, and shifts so he’s better supported by the pillows. “Just thinking about how much I appreciate you guys.”

Philip and Aaron exchange a glance. “I’m glad we could help,” Philip says, finally, smiling slightly; the expression lighting up his face; and Luke finds himself returning the smile.

He eventually drifts off between them; and as he sleeps, his dreams are full of laughing blue eyes and the scent of sandalwood.

* * *

The next morning is fairly subdued; they’re all still sleepy, and by unanimous vote, decide to order room service instead of dragging themselves downstairs to have breakfast. Luke finds himself lazing in bed, reading article after article on stone henges.

Eventually, though, noon rolls around, and Aaron stretches widely, before saying, altogether too chipper, “Alright, guys, who’s ready to go see a national park?”

Philip lets out a groan. “Do we have to?” he whines. “Can’t we just stay here? It’s nice and air conditioned. It’s absolutely baking outside.”

“It’s not that bad,” Aaron protests.

Philip holds up his phone. “It’s over ninety degrees,” he says, flatly. “And it’s high noon. It’s literally the hottest time of the day.”

Aaron struggles for words for a few moments. “Shut up,” he finally settles on. Luke finds his lips twitching at their bickering.

With a grunt of effort, he pulls himself from the bed. “I’m ready to go,” he says. “Philip, come on, you’ll enjoy it.”

“Yeah, Pip, come on,” Aaron says; with a wide, mocking grin.

Philip lets out a noise of outrage; and springs up from the bed, practically tackling Aaron. “You!” he shrieks. “You utter bastard! You stupid fucking bastard!”

Aaron, in his grasp, lets out a wheezing laugh. “Got you out of bed, though, didn’t I?”

“I hate you,” Philip announces. “From now on out, my only friend is Luke.”

“Thanks,” Luke says, drily; and yawns widely. “We should probably get going if we’re going to make it to the park today, though.” 

Reluctantly, Philip agrees with him; and they finally get down to the car and on their way to the park. Aaron’s driving again, which means they’re all subjected to his terrible music tastes.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve this sort of torture,” Luke complains. “Why can’t you put on a podcast like a normal human being? We could be listening to true crime right now instead of this abomination.”

“It’s not an abomination,” Aaron counters. “You wouldn’t know good music if it hit you in the face. You think good music is music you can fall asleep to. I bet if it was up to you, we’d be listening to classical piano pieces the entire trip.”

“At least that would be better than  _ this, _ ” Philip says, from the back seat. “I think my eardrums are going to burst.”

Aaron scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic,” he says, “it’s perfectly good music.”

“Perfectly good music, he says,” Philip mutters. A moment later, there’s the sound of a bag crinkling, and then ripping. “Luke, do you want some chips?”

“I’d love some chips, darling,” Aaron cuts in, reaching back; and Philip snatches the bag away.

“Not for you,” he says, sternly. “Only Luke.”

Aaron pouts. “Why do you wound me so, babe?” he asks, dramatically. Luke takes a handful of chips and chews as obnoxiously as possible. Aaron scowls at him; rakes a hand through his hair, and announces, “I hate the both of you.”

“Mhm,” Luke hums, and takes another handful of chips.

The rest of the trip passes fairly uneventfully, with only minimal amounts of bickering; and finally, they arrive at the park. It takes a while to find decent parking, but they eventually manage it, and, picnic basket in hand, make their way into the park.

It’s a marvel of nature; the stones soaring above them and the streams running fast, the water churning and white.

They find a nice little grassy spot and set down the picnic blanket and get out the snacks that they brought along with them.

“Can you pass me the water?” Luke asks.

A second later, Philip’s face comes into view. “Here,” he says, holding the water bottle out to Luke. Luke takes it gratefully, and pours himself a cup, drowning it in one go, and then fills up another, drinking this one more slowly.

“Thanks,” he says; and lets out a sigh, laying down on the blanket and staring up at the sky, looking at the clouds.

After a few minutes, Aaron and Philip join him. “That one looks like an arrow,” Philip says, pointing at one of them. “And that one looks like a flying pig.”

Aaron laughs. “I think it looks like a goat,” he says. “Luke, dear, what do you think?”

Luke frowns. “I can see both,” he replies, finally; and Aaron lets out a huff of laughter.

“Playing the neutral party again, I see,” he teases. “Alright, then, what do you think that one looks like?” He points at a large, fluffy white cloud.

Luke squints. “I think it looks like a cloud,” he says, finally.

Aaron laughs. “Okay, spoilsport,” he says, propping himself up onto one arm, leaning over Luke to grab something from the picnic basket.

For a second, they’re close enough that Luke can see the copper in his eyes; can smell the sandalwood and see the lighter streaks in his hair from where the sun has bleached it into a red.

His breath catches in his throat; heart stuttering to a halt.

Then Aaron pulls back, sandwich in hand and goes back to debating cloud shapes with Philip, leaving Luke winded, staring up at the sky, wondering what the heck just happened.

They spend the rest of the day at the park. Aaron and Philip bicker over cloud shapes for a while, and then they pack up the picnic basket and make their way deeper into the park. 

The sun shines through the tree cover, creating a dappled effect on the ground, and lush, emerald green moss grows on the trees and the rocks. 

All in all, it’s gorgeous. 

Unfortunately, since it’s summer, it’s also humid, and there’s mosquitoes galore. They find themselves swatting the bugs away every few seconds.

Luke’s just about to lean against a tree to inspect a large mushroom when a hand contacts with his arm, hard. “Sorry,” Philip says, pulling his hand away. “There was a mosquito on your arm.”

The point of contact, brief as it was, burns; and Luke scrubs away the bloody mess left behind, trying not to show how it affected him. “It’s fine,” he says, but he feels slightly queasy at the sight. A second later his vision goes black around the edges. “I need a moment,” he mutters, hand on the tree, and slowly lets himself down to the ground.

“Luke?” Philip asks; tone worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just give me a moment,” he manages, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.  _ In three, hold three, out three. In three, hold three, out three. _

There’s a hand on his shoulder; and when he opens his eyes, Philip’s leaning over him; blue eyes full of concern. Luke offers him a tremulous smile, which apparently doesn’t do the trick, because the other’s frown widens. “It’s just the blood,” Luke assures him. “I’m fine, just a little queasy.”

“Oh.” Philip worries his lip. “Is there anything we can do?”

Luke shakes his head slightly; trying to keep the movement minimal. “Just give me a moment,” he says. “And, uh, maybe a drink of water.”

Philip nods. “Alright,” he says. “Aaron, can you hand me the bottle of water?”

“Here,” Aaron says, and hands it to him; and Philip opens it, pressing it to Luke’s lips. Luke wants to protest; he’s not an invalid; but his arms feel limp at his sides, so he allows it; drinking greedily. 

Finally, the queasiness recedes; and Luke begins to rise. Philip loops his arm under Luke’s, helping him up; and, for once, Luke can’t find it in him to protest—the action, which would normally feel infantilising, feels more like compassion coming from Philip.

Aaron sets a hand on his shoulder once he’s standing up; the point of contact warm; his eyes deep and dark. “You okay to go on?” he asks, gently. “We can turn around if you want.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, I’m good now,” he replies. “We can keep going.”

“Alright,” Aaron says. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He pulls his hand away, leaving only Philip’s arm under Luke’s own. 

Philip keeps his arm there for the rest of their walk through the park; and Luke finds himself focused on the touch; foreign, and yet comforting; and he almost misses it when they eventually get back to the car and Philip pulls his arm away to go sit in the driver’s seat.

The sun’s setting as they begin the drive; and it casts the clouds into an array of greens, reds, pinks, and purples; and Luke finds himself glued to the window, watching it in awe.

The scenery outside zooms past them; but Luke can’t find it in himself to mind; to caught up in his own thoughts. He’s...content, as surprising as the realisation feels; content to be in Aaron and Philip’s presence, to be in the same car with them. Something about the other two is comforting for him, and he’s not about to question it.

The sun finally dips below the horizon fully; leaving them in the dark; and Philip switches the headlights on; illuminating the road before them; and Luke tilts his head so he can see the sky above them. The stars are just starting to be visible, and Luke searches for constellations.

Aaron catches onto what he’s doing, and leans forward. “That’s Ursa Major,” he says, softly; right into Luke’s ear; tracing the path of the constellation with his finger. 

Goosebumps rise on the back of Luke’s neck at the proximity; and he does his best to ignore them; focusing instead on the cluster of stars that Aaron pointed out. “And Ursa Minor?” he asks, keeping his tone light.

He can practically hear Aaron’s lips twitch into a smile. “There,” he says, moving his finger. “See the Big Dipper?”

“Yeah.”

“Now look up, and to the right. There’s the Little Dipper—that’s part of Ursa Minor, see?” He takes Luke’s hand in his own, guiding his finger along the path. The contact burns, but not unpleasantly; and Luke can feel the other’s hair tickling his neck. His ears suddenly feel hot.

“What other constellations are there?” he asks; voice hushed; and Aaron lets out a hum; doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Well,” he says, consideringly, “that, over there—those three stars that make a triangle? That’s Leo Minor. And then next to it’s Leo.”

Luke squints. “Leo like the zodiac?”

Aaron laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re an Aquarius, right? That’s over there—the long snaky one next to Pegasus.” Again, he holds Luke’s hand, and traces the constellation. “And then I’m over there—Virgo, right next to Hydra, and Philip—that’s Gemini, he’s at the other end of Hydra.”

“Huh,” Luke says. “I didn’t realise there were so many constellations.”

Aaron laughs again, and withdraws his hand from Luke’s, patting him on the shoulder. “That’s not even half of them,” he says. “One of these days, we should go stargazing properly, and I’ll show you all of the ones I know.”

Luke lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding; the air rushing out of him like water from a dam, and his hand burns, still, from the prolonged contact. “I’d like that,” he says.

* * *

They get to the hotel early in the morning; and Philip rouses Luke and Aaron to help him take the suitcases inside. Once they get checked in and get up to their room, Philip collapses onto the bed with a grunt. 

Aaron joins him a moment later; leaving Luke to the other bed, which is fine by him. It’s a queen, so there’s plenty of room for him to stretch out; and he gets all four of the pillows to himself, which is honestly kind of wonderful.

They nap for about an hour or two; and when Luke wakes up, the other two are already up in varying degrees. Aaron’s in the shower, presumably soon to get dressed, while Philip’s still in bed, reading a book, the  _ Baby Slut _ shirt half hanging off his shoulder.

“Morning,” Luke greets. “What’re you reading?”

“The Amber Spyglass,” Philip replies, without lifting his gaze from the book. He’s sitting on top of the heating pad, Luke notes, and feels guilty about falling asleep earlier in the car rather than offering to drive.

Just as he’s about to say something, Aaron steps out of the bathroom, letting out a billow of steam. His hair’s wrapped up in a towel, and he’s wearing a beaded black hawaiian shirt and a pair of shorts.

Philip looks up from his book. “You look absolutely hideous,” he greets. “Are you trying to give someone an aneurysm?”

“Fuck you too, sunshine,” Aaron retorts, cheerfully. “At least I’m not wearing a shirt that says  _ Baby Slut. _ Some of us have dignity.”

Philip snorts. “No idea what convinced you that  _ you _ of all people have any dignity left, but okay.”

Aaron ignores him. “Good morning, Luke,” he says, “ready to tackle another day?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Luke says; buttoning up his shirt; and stretches his arms, dragging a hand through his hair in absence of a comb. “We should probably go down to breakfast before they stop serving it.”

“Good plan,” Aaron says. “Philip, I’m going to insist you put on proper clothes. I refuse to be seen with you in public like this.”

“Oh, says the man with a beaded hawaiian shirt,” Philip retorts, scornfully, but sets his book down, dog earring it, and rises, grabbing a pair of pants and a t-shirt from his suitcase and disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Luke and Aaron alone in the room.

“I think the shirt brings out your eyes,” Luke offers; because it’s really not as bad as Philip insists; in fact, there’s something about it that makes Aaron seem almost  _ charming— _ if one’s into the flamboyant gay look.

Aaron huffs. “Thanks,” he says, drily. 

Breakfast is uneventful aside from some minor bickering; and then after that, they’re off to the Children’s Museum. Despite the name, it’s quite intriguing even for Luke, and he has to admit, the bubble exhibit is fun.

Aaron and Philip seem to agree; they spend a good twenty minutes making giant bubbles, trying to see who can make the biggest one. In the end it’s Luke who wins; but only because he’s got the larger set of strings.

“No fair,” Aaron pouts, “you can’t just sweep in and wreck both of us like that.”

“I think you’ll find I just did,” Luke says, smugly; and makes another huge bubble. Irritated, Aaron reaches out to pop it; forgetting that it’s going to cover him in bubble solution, and sputtering with with outrage when it inevitably does. 

“I hate you,” he says, and goes to find tissues to clean himself up, leaving Luke alone with Philip.

They spend the next fifteen minutes blowing bubbles at each other as they wait for Aaron to return. When he finally does, it’s a relief; the adults around them keep giving them weird looks for being being without children.

“I think we should probably go,” Philip suggests; and Luke agrees readily. Aaron, who’s still miffed about the shirt, digs his feet in more out of the principal of the thing than any real desire to stay, but he eventually agrees, and they get going.

Their next stop is the Fort Wayne Art Museum; the first exhibit being the chalk walk. Just off Main Street, the sidewalk is already being transformed into a tableau of different styles of artwork. There’s a few  _ trompe l'oeil  _ pieces that are so good that they almost make Luke feel dizzy looking at them.

Inside, they make their way to the glass displays; the first of which is dedicated to cut glass. From the plaque, Luke gleans a brief history of the movement; how it rose to prominence in the late nineteenth century, leading to what’s known as the Brilliant Period; and then was swiftly crushed by the first world war.

It’s absolutely fascinating; and all of the pieces are absolutely gorgeous; from the handcrafted glasses to the intricately carved plates. 

There’s even a black tea pot with absolutely breathtakingly careful detailing done on it.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. “Luke?” Philip asks, “did you hear me? I was asking if you wanted to go get lunch now.”

“Oh.” Luke shakes his head, trying to shake away the thousands of thoughts that are crowding his mind. “Sure,” he says.

They walk downtown to a nice little kosher café, where Luke orders tea and Philip and Aaron opt for a hot chocolate and a caramel macchiato, respectively; and each of them orders a sandwich as well.

The reuben that Luke orders is absolutely heavenly. “I’m not sure that I’ve had a reuben sandwich this good before,” he enthuses to an amused Philip and Aaron.

Around his grilled cheese, Philip replies. “Glad to see you’re enjoying it,” he says, “I hope you have that much enthusiasm for dinner tomorrow.”

“Dinner?” Luke raises a brow. “What’s so special about dinner?”

“We’re going out to eat,” Aaron replies. “I hope you brought something nice to wear, because it’s a five star restaurant.”

He did, actually; had thought that it might be an overkill to bring a three piece suit, but now he’s glad he did. “As long as it’s better than what you’re wearing now, it should be fine,” Philip assures, misinterpreting Luke’s silence for a loss of words.

“It’s fine,” Luke replies, “I brought formalwear.”

“Great,” Aaron says, and dives back into his sandwich.

* * *

The next day is mostly taken up with driving and visiting the Lincoln Tomb and Shawnee National Park; and so, by the time evening comes around, he’s almost forgotten about dinner. It’s not until he sees Aaron pull out a suit from his own suitcase that he remembers.

He rushes to pull on his own suit; emerging from the bathroom to find both Aaron and Philip already dressed. “Your tie’s crooked, dear,” Aaron says, and steps forward to fix it; then smooths his hands over Luke’s chest, pressing the lapels of his blazer down. “There we go. Philip, dear, hold on a second, your collar’s not flat,” he adds, and goes to fix that as well. “You look gorgeous, by the way—both of you do. Absolutely delectable.”

Luke’s ears heat. “Don’t be absurd,” he says; but secretly, he feels pleased with the compliment. “We should probably get going so we don’t miss our reservations.”

They don’t miss their reservations. It’s largely because, when push comes to shove, Aaron drives like an absolute maniac to get them there. Luke’s fairly certain that he went over the speed limit by a good fifteen miles multiple times.

When they get there, they’re all slightly out of breath from the exhilaration of it. The place is small, with a fancy sign reading  _ The Marquee, _ and it looks unassuming from the outside; but as they’re led inside, Luke marvels at the quiet elegance of the place; cream walls with large oil paintings hung around at intervals, and the floor is an elegant mahogany, polished to a perfection.

The waiter leads them to their table, and leaves them with three menus and a plate of hors d'oeuvres—tiny pastries filled with meat and vegetables. Luke’s hesitant to pick them up with how delicate they look, but once he has one, it’s no holds barred—they’re absolutely delectable.

“I can’t decide between the mushroom pasta and the chicken alfredo,” Philip complains, flipping through the menu. “And then there’s the sauteéd vegetables—there’s just so much to choose from.”

“I’d go with the mushroom pasta,” Luke suggests. “Usually the mushroom dishes are the ones that taste best.”

Philip hums. “Good point,” he says; taking a sip from his glass. 

They order their main course; Philip does wind up getting the mushroom pasta, while Aaron opts for a steak, and Luke sticks with a french onion soup and a side of rice and sauteéd vegetables. The food is all absolutely delectable.

Finally, they get to the desert; for which they order tiramisu, pudding, and a piece of apple pie with a side of vanilla ice cream.

Luke finishes his pudding before either of the others are even halfway through their own deserts; and Philip spots his empty bowl. “Here, have some of my pie,” he offers, pushing the plate towards Luke.

“I don’t want to eat all of your desert,” Luke protests. “I’ve already eaten my own.”

“I don’t mind,” Philip replies, “if you do finish it, I can always order more.”

For some reason, Luke’s ears burn. “Alright,” he says, and digs in. The pie is absolutely wonderful as well; and Philip halves the ice cream, pushing half of it towards him.

“Thanks,” Luke murmurs.

There’s the click of a camera shutter; and Luke freezes; slowly raising his eyes to find Aaron point his phone at them. “I couldn’t help myself,” he says, “you two look absolutely darling like that.”

Luke shrinks back in his seat slightly; face burning with something he can’t quite identify. By his side, Philip’s dropped his silverware with a clatter. “ _ Aaron, _ ” he hisses; face going bright red; and Aaron laughs; knowing that he can’t retaliate in public. “I’ll get you back later,” Philip promises, glaring at him.

After dinner, they make their way back to the car. Aaron takes first shift driving, leaving Philip and Luke in the back together. 

“Sorry about Aaron earlier,” Philip murmurs. “He’s a dick sometimes.”

Luke shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says, but something in his tone must reveal his embarrassment, because Philip puts a hand on his shoulder, soft and gentle.

“Hey,” he says, “don’t be afraid to tell him to go fuck himself if he does something that makes you uncomfortable, okay?—and don’t worry,” he adds, “I’ll back you up on it, whatever it is. I promise.”

The tension drains out of Luke’s shoulders slightly. “Thanks,” he murmurs. 

For a moment, they just sit there, staring at each other in silence; and then Philip reaches out and pats his cheek before pulling his hand away. For a second, Luke yearns for the contact, before he shakes himself.  _ That’s ridiculous, _ he chides himself.

Luke reads a book for the rest of Aaron’s leg of the trip, and Philip falls asleep next to him, before eventually Luke takes over driving. Aaron takes the passenger sleep, falling asleep after a few minutes, leaving Luke the only one awake.

It’s peaceful, and kind of humbling; to know that his friends trust him enough to fall asleep in a multi-ton car hurtling along the road at high speeds. 

The sun comes up just as he pulls into the parking lot of the hotel, and there’s a quiet groan from the back; Philip waking up. He turns around to find the other pushing himself up, eyes glassy. “Morning,” he greets quietly.

Philip grunts something that could possibly be  _ good morning _ , and Luke smiles slightly.

Eventually, he has to wake Aaron up as well; and they grab their suitcases and make their way into the hotel, checking in. 

“We should probably eat something,” Philip says, yawning widely.

Aaron hums. “I can go grab takeout if you want.”

“That sounds fine.”

Luke, who’s collapsed face-first onto one of the two beds, just grunts; which elicits a laugh from both of the others.

Eventually, though, he does have to get up; and, scrubbing a hand over his face, finds that his stubble has returned. He sighs, and makes his way into the bathroom.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. “Luke?” Philip asks, “can I come in?”

“Sure,” he replies, squinting into the mirror and trying to keep the razor from digging too deep into his skin; lets out a sigh and drops his hand.

The door opens, and Philip enters; holding himself slightly awkwardly. “I was going to ask if you wanted a hand with shaving,” he says, not meeting Luke’s eyes; as if embarrassed. “You don’t have to say yes,” he hastens to add, “I just figured I’d offer—”

“I’d appreciate that,” Luke interrupts. “I think I’m too tired to do it myself.”

Philip brightens. “Okay,” he says, taking the razor from Luke’s hand; their fingers brushing together for a single, electrified beat, before it’s gone.

Philip drags the shower chair over to the sink, making him sit, before he begins; gently dragging the razor across Luke’s cheek. It takes a few minutes, but he manages to get rid of all of the stubble, leaving the skin smooth and new.

“Thanks,” Luke murmurs, catching his hand. “Seriously, it means a lot to me.”

Philip drops the razor. “Of course,” he says, quietly.

His other hand’s still on Luke’s cheek from where he was positioning his head; and Luke presses into it, releasing a shaky sigh; and meets Philip’s eyes. They’re wide and so, so blue, and his lips are parted lightly; and Luke finds himself staring.

A long, long beat passes, and then Philip leans in slightly; hesitant, waiting for Luke’s response. Without thinking, Luke presses forward, bringing their lips together; kissing him back, gentle; rises from his seat and presses forward, meeting Philip’s body with his own.

Philip pulls away slightly; expression hungry, before he presses back in, less gentle this time, and Luke finds himself pressed up against the wall, gasping against the other’s mouth; ears and cheeks hot, and,  _ holy heck,  _ it feels so good, and—and—

And suddenly, his mind leaps to Aaron; to the feelings that rise in his chest whenever the other compliments him, and guilt floods through him. He presses a hand to Philip’s chest, pushing the other away. 

Philip pulls away, lips slightly swollen already, hair coming out of his hair tie, eyes wide and dark. “What’s wrong?” he asks, quietly.

Luke shakes his head. “I can’t do this,” he mumbles. “I—” his voice cracks, and he starts again. “I have feelings for someone else.”

“Oh.” Philp’s expression dims. “Um. Yeah, well, okay. Yeah, okay. It’s probably for the better, anyway,” he laughs, the sound slightly hollow. “I have, um, feelings for someone else, too, so. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Luke echoes; and slips way from the other’s grip and practically flees the bathroom, leaving Philip behind.

A few moments later, Philip emerges from the bathroom, shaving kit in hand. “You forgot this,” he mutters, handing the shaving kit to Luke, and turns and disappears back into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower turning on is loud in the otherwise silent hotel room; and Luke wishes he could wash away the guilt and complicated feelings that are churning just beneath his skin.

The door clicks open. “I’m back!” Aaron announces, setting a bag on the table; catches sight of Luke, and frowns. “Something up, sunshine?”

“It’s nothing,” Luke mumbles, “just hungry.”

“Alright,” Aaron says; sounding disbelieving; but thankfully, he doesn’t push it.

Later that day, they make it up to the state capitol. The trip there is silent and uncomfortable; enough so that even Aaron notices; trying to break the ice to no avail; both Luke and Philip are quiet and reply with either non sequiturs—Philip—or monosyllabic answers—Luke. Eventually, Aaron gives up.

They wander around the capitol for a while; get lunch at a pub downtown—one that has vegetarian options—, and eventually decide to go back to the hotel.

As soon as they get inside, Philip takes off with the excuse that he needs a walk, and Luke lets him without any protest. It’s not like he blames Philip for wanting to run away from his problems for a bit.

Aaron hops up onto the edge of the bed. “Okay, what’s up with you and Philip?” he demands. “You guys were peachy keen on each other just the other day, and now you’re acting like he kicked your puppy.”

“Nothing,” Luke says, not meeting his gaze. 

Aaron frowns. “Look, I didn’t get the best marks in school, but I’m not a fucking idiot, okay? So don’t act like the shit between you too isn’t screamingly obvious.”

“Maybe you’re just seeing things that aren’t there,” Luke snaps, without thinking; and watches Aaron’s face tighten; his expression blanking. “Sorry, damnit, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know what you meant,” Aaron says; slow and steady. “You think I’m off my meds, or some shit, right? You think I’m paranoid and making things up?”

“That’s not what I said,” Luke protests; but it’s a lost cause; Aaron’s already steamrolling over him, practically shouting now.

“You think I’m a fucked up bastard who can’t control what he thinks, what he sees, don’t you? Well, fuck you, buddy—I’ll have you know that I take my meds just fine,” he spits, “maybe you’re the one who needs his head checked, ‘cause you’re acting like someone else.”

With that, he rises, stalking out of the room, leaving Luke by himself.

Luke bites his lip.  _ I can’t believe I said that, _ he thinks, miserably. Now both Aaron and Philip are avoiding him—and for legitimate, valid reasons that are entirely his fault. “Damnit,” he hisses. “Damnit!” He kicks the wall, and lets out a hiss of pain; does it again just to feel something other than the guilt and anger that are filling him to the brim.

* * *

The drive is tense; none of them are really speaking to each other. It makes the next few days absolutely miserable.

The national parks are gorgeous; the food is good, and the weather is perfect; but despite that, the malaise that hangs between them—specifically, between Luke and Aaron—ruins it all.

It’s on the twelfth day that Luke finally gets up the courage to try and talk to him. 

They’re at Pier 39; and Philip’s wandered off to slightly out of hearring range. Luke sits down on the bench next to Aaron and clears his throat. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you for a moment?”

Aaron grunts; arms crossed; but he doesn’t get up from where he’s sitting and leave, so Luke counts that as a win. 

“I’m sorry about what I said the other day,” he says. “I—that was totally out of line, and, and... _ shitty _ of me. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Great,” Aaron says, sounding unimpressed.

Luke hesitates before continuing. “I know that just an apology probably isn’t going to cut it,” he says, quietly. “So I...I want to ask for a chance to try and make things right. To show you that I’ve changed my ways, I guess. So. Yeah. You get to pick.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Aaron says, “I don’t want you to do shit, okay?”

Luke frowns. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t want you to do shit. Honestly,” he says, with a slight huff, “I...I’d forgiven you by the time that I got back to the hotel. I just—I guess I wanted you to suffer a bit, so I...I ignored you and didn’t talk to you. And now that you’ve apologised, I don’t want to keep spending the energy giving you the cold shoulder. And...” here, he hesitates, before continuing. “I kind of missed you,” he says, finally.

Luke stares at him. “You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” he says, finally; and then hastily adds: “I mean that as a compliment.”

Aaron laughs; reaches up and ruffles Luke’s hair. “I know,” he says. “Now let’s grab Philip and get to the Exploratorium before it gets too late.”

The Exploratorium is absolutely fascinating; Luke winds up absolutely enamoured by the iron hand interactive exhibit, and they spend a good half hour on the outside exhibits. It’s only when it starts getting really windy that they go back inside.

“Oh, look,” Aaron says, “a DIY art station!”

Luke looks towards where he’s pointing; finds a man helping a young girl and her mother affix markers to a board suspended by wires. He uncaps the markers, and turns the board down, letting the girl give it a shove. The paper beneath it begins to come to life with colour.

Luke grins. “You guys want to go do that?” he asks; and the other two nod enthusiastically. They get into line, waiting about ten minutes, before each going in one at a time.

“Mine looks like a kidney bean,” Aaron says. “And yours looks like a pair of tits, Philip.”

Luke and Aaron devolve into laughter, while Philip scowls at them. “Real mature, guys, real mature,” he says. “It’s supposed to be an infinity symbol, you jerks.”

“Sorry,” Luke gasps, “but he’s right.”

“Says the person whose piece looks like a dick,” Philip says, scornfully, “you hardly have any room to talk.”

Luke shrugs. “That’s fair,” he says. “I mean, it was supposed to be a butterfly, but that’s fair.”

They go downtown for lunch; find a nice little kosher bakery and dig in. Luke finds himself halfway through the meal regaling Philip and Aaron with facts about tardigrades.

Philip snaps his fingers. “Aren’t those the ones that can survive in a vacuum?” Luke nods eagerly.

“Yeah!” he says. “They were first described by a German dude in the 70s—uh, 1770s, that is. But they weren’t named until 1777, ‘cause the German dude just called them little water bears. That’s where we get the colloquial name for them—water bears, that is. Um, and yeah, they can survive exposure to outer space, as well as extreme temperatures, air deprivation, dehydration, radiation, and starvation. They’re pretty neat.”

“How many different kinds are there?” Aaron asks, indulging him. “They live everywhere, right? So there’s gotta be a ton of different types.”

Luke nods again. “There’s like, over a thousand different types,” he says. “They’re really interesting, too, ‘cause they don’t have, like, distinct parts of the body like lots of other insects do—no thorax and abdomen, at all. Instead they’re made up of bits that are basically the same as the head. Well,” he adds, “except for the last pair of legs. And each member of each species has the same number of cells as the other members of the species do.”

Aaron hums and sips at his decaf. “Neat,” he says, genuinely sounding interested. Normally, Luke would worry about boring people with his over-explaining, but with Philip and Aaron, he’s never felt that way—at least, not since they were first getting to know each other.

It’s something that Luke really appreciates about his friends—the fact that he can just be himself and they won’t judge him for it. They’ve known him better than anyone else, seen him at some of the worst points in his life, and yet, still, here they are. It’s amazing—it awes him, and he’s incredibly grateful for it.

“Do you think that if we made tardigrades super big we could ride them like horses?” Philip asks. “I mean, just imagine it. We breed super big, super indestructible animals—we wouldn’t have to worry about them freaking the fuck out like horses do.”

“Probably not,” Luke replies. “Part of what makes them so resilient is their small size.”

“Plus,” Aaron adds, “the military would probably try and use them as weapons.”

Philip wrinkles his nose; taking a sip from his tea. “Nevermind, then,” he says. “So well, and so long, giant tardigrades, we hardly even knew you.”

* * *

Philip takes the first shift driving; Aaron opts for the back seat so he can lie down, leaving Luke in the passenger. The aura of awkwardness hangs between him and Philip still, leaving the first stint of the drive back feeling tense and wrong-footed.

Luke hates it. He wants to go back to the intimacy of Before, when he could touch Philip casually without worrying about it being taken as an advance; but now he’s stuck squarely in the After, and he has no right to it.

He tilts his head back against the headrest and watches the sky turn from blue to gold to red to black; watches the stars come out; unintentionally retracing the constellations he remembers Aaron showing him a few days before. 

That brings a dull ache to the surface; an ache of longing. He wants...he  _ wants, _ and it’s so bitterly unfair to everyone involved.

He sighs; staring bleakly out into the sky, and wishes for—for what, he’s not quite sure. Change, perhaps. A solution.  _ Something. _

Philip’s voice comes, quiet, across the chasm. “Hey.”

Luke shakes his head. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Yeah, could you pass me a granola bar?”

“Sure.” He twists around, reaching behind the seat, and grabs the cooler of snacks they picked up before leaving San Francisco; pops it open. “You want a peanut butter or a chocolate chip one?”

Philip shrugs; the motion, in the dark, not more than a shifting of darkness that has slightly more dimension than the darkness around it. “Either’s fine.”

“Alright.” He plucks the chocolate chip one out; holds it out to Philip, who takes it; careful that their hands don’t brush. Luke both detests the small action, and feels unparalleled relief at the fact that he didn’t have to feel the other’s skin against his own for a tantalising, far too brief moment.

“Thanks,” Philip says, after a beat; the wrapping crackling.

Luke swallows. “No problem.”

After that, the rest of the ride is silent; and they switch off around half past three in the morning. Luke drives for about four hours, and then, when the sun’s coming up, they stop and book a hotel.

Luke’s infinitely glad that Philip and Aaron are sharing a bed this time; can’t imagine trying to lay mere inches apart from either of them—his emotions are too complicated to handle that at the moment.

They eat a fairly subdued breakfast, and Philip goes for a walk. Aaron, who hasn’t really talked much up to now, clears his throat. “I saw there was a hot tub and a pool, if you want to check those out.”

Luke considers it. “I...” he hesitates. “No thanks,” he finally says.

Aaron frowns. “Alright,” he says, “your loss.” With that, he makes his way over to his suitcase, pulling out a pair of swim trunks, and disappears into the bathroom; emerging a few moments later clad in nothing but the swim trunks.

Luke averts his gaze, ears burning hot. “Have fun,” he manages.

That evening, they eat in the quiet room before turning in to bed. Everything feels like it’s covered in a fog; slow and dull, and Luke buries his head beneath the pillows in an attempt to block it out.

The next day isn’t much better; they all take shifts driving, but it’s in silence, and not a comfortable one, either. When they finally get to New York, it’s one in the morning.

“What do you guys say we treat ourselves and rent a hotel for the night?” Aaron suggests. “It’s late, and we’re all tired—we can go home tomorrow.”

Philip nods. “That sounds good to me,” he says. “Luke, what do you say?”

Luke finds himself the centre of attention. “That’s fine,” he mutters. “It’s probably better that we rest instead of trying to drive home.”

“Alright, then, it’s agreed,” Aaron announces; and, a few minutes later, pulls the car into the parking lot of a Marriot.

They book a double queen as usual; and all of them collapse into their respective beds. Luke’s too tired to even care too much about the fact that he’s sharing a bed with Aaron—he’s too exhausted, muscles feeling like they’re made of weighted putty instead of flesh.

He’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

* * *

_ He’s laying in a large bed; the morning light is streaming in through the window blinds, and he squints; trying to bring the world into focus; reaches out to the bedside table to grab his glasses.  _

_ There’s a warm figure pressed into his side, and when he turns his head, glasses now firmly on his face, Philip materialises by his side. _

_ Luke blinks.  _ Absolutely not, _ he thinks.  _ This can’t be happening.

_ The door creaks open. “Good morning, sunshine,” comes Aaron’s voice; and he crawls onto the bed, pressing a kiss to Luke’s lips, and then leaning over to peck Philip’s cheek. “How are you feeling?” _

_ “I—what?” Luke stammers, head spinning.  _ This can’t be happening, _ he thinks, again; half-hysterically. _

_ Aaron frowns at him. “You were running a bit of a fever last night,” he says. “I think you picked it up from Philip—I told him not to kiss you with a fever, but neither of you listened to me.” He laughs; shakes his head, as if that’s a common experience— _

Luke wakes with a start; breath stuttering in his chest.  _ What the heck, _ he thinks; mind spinning; half-falls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom, splashing water on his face; stares at himself in the mirror. “What the heck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

A moment later, the reality of it hits him. He was just having a dream about being in bed with Aaron and Philip—and not platonically, either, if the searing kiss he remembers is anything to go by.

“Oh, God,” he groans, sliding down to sit heavily on the floor. “This can’t be happening.  _ This can’t be happening. _ ” His breath is coming quick; his palms sweating, and his vision’s narrowing.  _ Great, _ he thinks, hysterically,  _ that’s just great. _

“Luke?” comes Philip’s voice, worried; and Luke remembers he forgot to close the door. “Luke, are you alright?”

_ Not particularly, _ he thinks,  _ I just realised I sort of romantically want both of my friends. How’s your Monday going, Philip? _

There’s a hand on his shoulder; Philip’s, he realises belatedly; and the other’s voice, slightly panicked: “Deep breaths, okay, Luke? Come on, breathe with me, buddy. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. In, one, two, three...”

Slowly, Luke’s breaths even out; and the darkness encroaching around his vision begins to disappear; until, finally, he’s just sitting on the floor, Philip crouched next to him, mumbling the instructing to the breathing exercises to him.

He feels suddenly ridiculous. “I’m fine now,” he says, hoarsely.

Philip frowns at him. “You’re not,” he says, bluntly. 

“You’re definitely not alright,” comes Aaron’s voice, and Luke wonders when he came into the bathroom. He’s hovering over Philip’s shoulder, looking horribly awkward. “You just nearly had a panic attack, Luke—and don’t try to argue,” he says, sharply. “I know what they look like, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell us,” Philip soothes. “We’re not going to judge you.”

Luke laughs; long and high; and Philip’s frown deepens. Finally, when he catches his breath, the words burst out of him. “I think I’m into you.”

Philip blinks; says, voice terribly kind, “You mean Aaron, right?” 

Luke shakes his head; trying not to fall into hysterical laughter again. “No, both of you.”

“I need a moment,” Philip says; suddenly; and releases Luke’s shoulder, practically fleeing the bathroom; leaving Aaron and Luke alone. Luke lets his head thunk against the wall; too tired to be bothered by the slight spike of pain at the action. Neither of them say anything; Aaron, probably, from shock; and Luke from exhaustion.

Surprisingly, Philip returns; a box of tissues in hand; and he pulls a few out. “Um,” he says, quietly, “honesty hour, right?” He chuckles nervously. “I think I’m into both of you, too.” And then, to Aaron: “obviously, I don’t expect you to return the sentiment—”

“Exactly,” Luke cuts in, finding his voice. “You don’t have to return our feelings, it’s fine, I promise—”

Silent until now, Aaron finally speaks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he says, voice high. “I’ve been flirting with both of you for the entire trip! Did  _ neither  _ of you notice?”

Luke blinks. “But that was platonic,” he protests, and Philip nods.

Aaron throws up his hands; kneels, taking Luke’s face in his hands. “I was calling you  _ babe _ and  _ darling, _ ” he says. “It was  _ definitely _ not platonic. I’m super into both of you, too.”

“Oh,” Luke says, dumbly.

Aaron laughs, and presses a kiss to his forehead, and then one to his lips; lets go of Luke and rises, taking Philip’s face in his hands and repeating the process. “That not platonic enough for you two?” he asks; voice teasing.

Luke nods. “Yeah,” he says, half-dazed; tears dried by now, leaving tear-tracks on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Philip echoes; sounding just as dazed, and then offers a hand to Luke. Luke takes it gratefully, letting the other pull him off the floor and into a full body embrace and a kiss. In the background, Aaron wolf-whistles.

They break apart, both flushed, and exchange a glance. “I think this was the best trip I’ve ever had,” Luke admits; and the other two grin at him.

“Seconded,” Aaron says. “Now do you guys want to order room service and test out one of those beds?”

Luke goes bright red, and Philip cackles. “I think that’s a yes,” he says.

* * *

They go out for dinner that night. It’s a hole in the wall place; the walls sticky, the lighting dim, the menus old and the text slightly worn off in places; and there are only a few dishes that any of them can have; and they have to drag two tables together to fit their chairs around it properly, but the food is great, and they hold hands beneath the table, and, in Luke’s mind, it’s the best date he’s ever been on.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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